


Reprieve

by Seraphtrevs



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: 10000-30000 words, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being separated from the other prisoners in the crash of Flight 195, Mohinder makes his way to Texas in an attempt to flee to Mexico. While trying to find a way to cross the border, he runs into Sylar. Is it destiny, or just a run of extraordinarily bad luck?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nowhack](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nowhack).



> Written for nowhack for the Mylar Ficathon.
> 
> Thank you to my incredibly patient beta, marenpaisley.

Mohinder was hungry.

He didn't think he'd really understood the full meaning of the word before this point. He would sometimes joke with friends (back when he had friends) that he would "forget" to eat when wrapped up in some particularly interesting research project, but he now realized that no one forgets to eat, not really. You can _delay_ your appetite, especially when you knew where your next meal was coming from, but you could never truly _forget_ it. He understood that now.

He couldn't remember exactly the last time he'd eaten. It couldn't have been that long ago, but the days and nights had started to blur together and he couldn't pinpoint how many hours it had been since his last meal. But although he couldn't remember the exact time, he did remember, in vivid detail, what it had been – he'd bought a large bean and rice burrito from some hole-in-the-wall taco shop. The tortilla had been burned, but it had been the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

He scratched absently at his chin. He hadn't had the opportunity to shave since the plane crash and was consequently sporting a week's worth of beard. Shaving was another thing he had taken for granted. Before, he wasn't always the best at keeping up with his grooming, but he always knew that a razor, shaving cream and a sink full of hot water were available, ready for whenever the stubble got to be too much. The knowledge that those things were no longer easily accessible made the itch nearly unbearable.

He was sitting on the main street of some town in Texas – he couldn't recall the name. It was a depressing area – several of the buildings along the road were abandoned, and there were no less than three liquor stores. He was loitering in front of a rundown drug store, hoping for a few minutes respite before the manager shooed him away. It was evening, but the heat of the day still lingered, and he was exhausted.

It had taken him three days, but he was now relatively certain that he'd lost the agents that had been on his trail. He found that his increasingly scruffy appearance afforded him a certain level of invisibility – no one looked twice at bums. Mohinder found himself wondering about all the men and women he'd given change to over the years; he'd always thought he'd known their stories – mental illness, drug addiction, poverty - but now he wasn't so sure. He certainly never thought he'd be one of them.

Mohinder wasn't even paying particularly close attention when he saw, almost out of the corner of his eye, a familiar-looking man walking down the other side of the street. He rubbed his eyes and stared. True, he was probably near delirious from lack of food and proper rest, but he could have sworn the man now rapidly retreating down the road was…_Sylar._

But that was impossible. Sylar was dead; Peter had told him that he had been killed in the fire that had destroyed the Primatech facility. Of course there hadn't been a body, but the place had been burned to a cinder, and Claire had stabbed him in the head immediately before.

But if he had survived, and assuming Mohinder wasn't hallucinating the entire thing, what was he doing here? Had the government tried to apprehend him, too? Was he also attempting an escape to Mexico? Or was he here for some other reason? Mohinder had to find out.

As nonchalantly as he could, Mohinder got up and began to follow the other man, trying to remain an inconspicuous distance behind him. The man reached the liquor store on the far end of the street and abruptly turned and disappeared behind it. Mohinder paused, unsure if he should follow, but a moment later his decision was made for him as an invisible force yanked him forward. He was thrown up against the wall of the store and an arm was pressed across his neck. And sure enough, he found himself face to face with Sylar.

"Mohinder?" Sylar said with what seemed like genuine surprise. His arm dropped slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Mohinder gave him a forceful push, sending him sprawling several feet until he crashed into the wall of the building next door. He bounced off the concrete and fell to the ground; it was immensely gratifying to watch.

Sylar slowly raised himself to his hands and knees – and then laughed. "Kept the super-strength, I see," he said. "But you lost the scales – good thinking. That was a terrible look for you."

Mohinder quickly crossed over to him before he could get to his feet and grabbed him by the shirt. "Shut up!" He pulled his fist back to punch him, but Sylar raised a hand and shot a bolt of electricity at him. Mohinder gasped at the shock and fell to the ground, grasping his chest. It hadn't been a high enough voltage to knock him unconscious, but it had still _hurt._

While Mohinder writhed on the ground, Sylar got up and brushed himself off. He stood over Mohinder and looked down at him. "That wasn't anywhere near as powerful as I could have made it," he said, as if he'd just done him an enormous favor.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Mohinder said accusingly.

"Yes, well, rumors of my demise, et cetera." Sylar held out his hand. Mohinder winced, expecting another bolt, but when nothing happened, Mohinder realized that, for some bizarre reason, he was actually trying to help him up. "Now why don't you take a few deep breaths and calm down so we can talk?"

In response, Mohinder kicked his shin. The angle wasn't right for doing any real damage, even with his super strength, but it did distract him enough for Mohinder to scramble to his feet. He ran out from behind the building and retreated across the road.

A few moments later, Sylar emerged from behind the building. "It's no use fighting me – you can't kill me," Sylar shouted after him.

"Maybe not," Mohinder shouted back. "But I'm guessing that smashing your head in still won't be particularly good for your health." He grabbed a car that was parked on the street and hurled it as hard as he could towards him. Sylar made a sweeping motion with his hand and the car flew harmlessly around him, crashing into the abandoned building to his left.

Before Sylar could retaliate, they were both startled by the sound of a shotgun being fired. A man had emerged from the liquor store, and he now had his gun trained squarely at Mohinder's chest.

"I won't miss again," the man said, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. "Now put your hands up and get down on the ground, nice and slow."

Mohinder raised his hands. He realized that he must look like a maniac. "You don't understand – I'm not the dangerous one here."

"Well, I just saw you hurl a two thousand pound car like it weren't nothing, so I'm sure you'll understand if I find that a little hard to believe," the man said, his aim never wavering. Mohinder couldn't really fault his logic.

Mohinder looked over the man's shoulder at Sylar, who was rolling his eyes. He saw Sylar begin to lift his hand again.

"Wait – no!" Mohinder said, instinctively making a move towards Sylar to stop him. The man with the gun fired, hitting Mohinder in the chest.

Mohinder reeled backwards. Everything slowed down, as if he'd been plunged under water. He could feel himself falling, and he heard an anguished shout but couldn't tell where it was coming from. He finally hit the ground, and everything went black.

***

 

Mohinder bolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Blood spewed from his lips; he tried to take in a breath but only ended up sucking the blood back into his throat. He was choking – _dying._

"Shhh – you're okay," someone said. He felt a hand on his back, patting him. "Come on – cough it up. You've almost got it."

Mohinder gagged and hacked and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt several metallic lumps pass up through his throat and into his mouth. He spat the mass out onto his lap.

The hand on his back continued to move in soothing circles. "Good. I think that was the last of it."

Mohinder finally looked up. He was in a bed in what looked like a motel room; Sylar was sitting beside him. "What…happened?" he managed to croak out.

Sylar took the metal pellets from Mohinder's lap. He placed them in a small pile of similar pellets that was lying on the nightstand.

"You died." Sylar held up a bloody syringe and smirked. "And I brought you back."

Mohinder stared at the syringe, then at the bloody pellets. "I was shot," he said, slowly remembering. "By that man."

"Yes. And I brought you back here and injected you with my blood."

"Why?"

"Did you really think I'd let some back-town hick gun you down in the street like an animal?" He picked up a damp towel and began to wipe the blood off of Mohinder's face. "I like the beard, by the way."

Mohinder grabbed the towel from him. "I can do that myself, thank you." He finished wiping off his face; when he was finished, the white towel was almost entirely covered in blood and not a small amount of dirt.

"I bet you're hungry – I always am after I'm killed," Sylar said. His tone was maddeningly conversational. "Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll go get us a pizza or something, all right?"

Mohinder had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, but fortunately, Sylar didn't seem to care. He stood up and walked towards the door. "I'll be back in a little bit. Be sure to wash behind your ears." Then he was gone.

Mohinder stared stupidly after him for several long moments. What exactly was going on here?

After several minutes of deliberation, he shrugged and decided to do as Sylar suggested. Apart from being covered in blood, he was also filthy. Regardless of his immediate instinct to do exactly the opposite of whatever Sylar said, he still needed to bathe.

The room Sylar had rented was more than just a bedroom – it had a small kitchen and something of a living room area. He made his way to the bathroom; the bathtub was of a decent size and he briefly considered the luxury of a bath, but decided against it. He had to literally peel his clothes off; the blood had caked them to his body. He felt strangely stiff, but he wasn't in any pain. As he showered, he examined his body. There were no scars on his abdomen. In fact, he didn't have any scars anymore; the small scar he had on his knee from a childhood injury had disappeared. He found that unsettling.

He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He noticed a shaving kit sitting on the bathroom counter. He paused. Keeping his beard may give him an advantage as far as hiding from the authorities went, but his face was incredibly itchy. The fact that Sylar had said he liked the beard was the deciding factor; he picked up the shaving cream and began to lather his face.

After he had finished shaving, he went to get dressed, but his old clothes were way too bloody, tattered and filthy to put back on. He searched the apartment for Sylar's bag; surely if he had brought a shaving kit, he must have brought extra clothes as well? He spent several fruitless minutes looking and then realized that Sylar might have deliberately made sure that there was nothing for him to wear as a way of preventing him from leaving.

He sat down on the sofa in the living room area and held his head in his hands. He couldn't believe he was in a motel room with Sylar – _again._ How had this happened? The whole thing was like some awful Greek tragedy.

He still wasn't entirely clear on how it had happened the first time, either. He'd slept with his father's killer. That wasn't something that people generally did. Part of it probably had to do with the seemingly endless streams of rejections he'd endured before dialing Zane's number – people calling him crazy, or worse, simply hanging up on him, as if he were some lunatic. He started to believe he was – that the only abnormal genetics involved in the whole bloody mess was some sort of congenital insanity his father had passed on to him.

So when he had heard Zane's message on his answering machine, the relief he'd felt that someone had actually taken him seriously was enormous. It had been sort of crazy to jump in the car and drive out to meet him based on one frantic phone call, but he had been so desperate to find someone who would be willing to listen to him that he chanced it. And when he finally met the man he thought was Zane, he was halfway in love before they'd finished their first conversation, simply because he seemed to really _believe_ in Mohinder. It had been laughably easy for Sylar to take advantage of that.

And now here he was at Sylar's mercy again, although at least this time he was aware of the dangers. What did Sylar want from him? Was it something to do with his own new ability? That didn't seem to make a lot of sense, but he couldn't think of what else it would be.

It was ten more minutes before Sylar returned. He was carrying a pizza and a bottle of soda, and the smell was nearly intoxicating.

Sylar set them down on the table. "You got rid of the beard, I see," he said.

There was something in the way he said it that set Mohinder off – like he knew that Mohinder would respond to his compliment by getting rid of it at the first available opportunity. It was also completely possible that he was being overly paranoid, but Mohinder's emotions were already unstable, and before he knew what he was doing, he leaped across the room and grabbed Sylar by the shirt, hoisted him into the air and slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

"You son of a bitch," he snarled while holding Sylar pinned in place. "Is it even possible for you to interact with another human being without trying to manipulate them?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Mohinder tightened his grip on Sylar's shirt and gave him another shake. "Why did you save me? Was it so you could take my ability?"

"Is this everything you'd imagined it be?"

Mohinder's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Confronting me. It's what you dreamed about, isn't it – why you gave yourself powers in the first place?" He was panting slightly. "Tell me – were you thinking of me when you slammed that needle home? When you pushed the plunger and flooded yourself with whatever chemical concoction you brewed up?"

Mohinder's grip faltered. Sylar used the opportunity to bring his hands up and knock Mohinder backwards with telekinetic force. Mohinder crashed to the ground; when he tried to get up, he felt his wrists pinned by invisible hands. Mohinder cursed himself – how had he ever thought, even for a moment, that his strength would be a match for Sylar's abilities?

Sylar stood over Mohinder, watching him struggle helplessly. "Mohinder, Mohinder, Mohinder," he tutted. "Use that magnificent brain of yours. Why would I go to the trouble of bringing you back to life if all I was going to do was kill you again?" He crouched down and hovered his face inches above Mohinder's. "I don't want your ability – you're small game." Mohinder shut his eyes and cringed, not sure what to expect.

Suddenly, Sylar stood up and sighed. The pressure on Mohinder's wrists vanished. "I'm sorry. This isn't – " He sighed again. "I didn't bring you here to fight. Can we call a truce at least long enough to have dinner?"

Mohinder eyed Sylar cautiously. Sylar seemed sincere, and he really was famished. "Fine," he said.

Sylar offered Mohinder his hand. "Please don't kick me in the shin this time." After a moment's hesitation, Mohinder accepted it, and Sylar pulled him to his feet.

The two of them sat down at the table. Mohinder devoured three slices by the time Sylar finished his first, pausing only to chug from the soda bottle.

Sylar watched in fascination. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked finally.

"Can't recall," Mohinder said around a mouthful.

"So what exactly happened to you, and what are you doing here? I assume you're on the run from the government?"

Mohinder hesitated, but then decided that there probably wasn't any reason not to tell him. "I was captured in New York. They put me on a plane with a bunch of other people with abilities. I don't know where they were taking us, but the plane crashed in Arkansas. I was separated from the others, and – I ran." He felt an intense wave of self-hatred at his cowardice. He should have stayed, tried to help, but he had panicked, and by the time he got a hold of himself, it was too late. The site was crawling with soldiers – there was no way he could have saved anyone. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "I stole some clothes and some cash from a trailer by the site. I'm too afraid to try to access my bank account, and I imagine they've frozen my assets anyway. I figured I'd try to get to Mexico and call my mother from there – have her wire me some money. I snuck aboard a freight train and got to the border, but then I nearly got caught trying to sneak across. I've been trying not to stay in any one town for too long, but now I've run out of money, and I'm stuck." He didn't like talking about all of his failures and vulnerability, so he tried to change the subject. "What about you? Are you trying to get to Mexico, too?"

"No," Sylar said. "I'm actually looking for a present for a new friend, and sources tell me I should be able to find what I'm looking for here."

Mohinder snorted derisively. "You. With a friend."

Sylar gave him a shark-like smile. "Well, a potential friend."

"I suppose there isn't any point in asking you to be more clear about that."

"You suppose correctly."

Mohinder finished his fourth piece of pizza. He felt queasy; he'd eaten too fast. "I'd like to get dressed now," he said. "And as I'm sure you're well aware, there's nothing for me to change into here."

Sylar smirked. "I have some clothes in the car that you can wear," he said, but didn't make any indication of moving to the door.

"Well?" Mohinder asked after a minute. "Aren't you going to go get them?"

"What's the rush? It's a warm night."

Mohinder sighed in frustration. "What do you want from me?"

"A thank you would be nice. I did just save your life."

"And I wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if you hadn't attacked me."

"What?" Sylar sputtered. "_You_ were the one who followed me! And you threw a car at me!"

"I was preemptively defending myself," Mohinder sniffed. "One of us here is a serial killer, and it isn't me."

"I am _not_ a – " Sylar cut himself off and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Okay, fine. But I still saved you. I dragged your bleeding corpse back to this motel room and gave you my life's blood. Surely that counts for something?"

"I never asked you to."

"Oh, so you would have rather had me leave you to die in the street?"

Mohinder looked away. "Of course not."

Sylar looked at Mohinder intently. "You're lying."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a new ability I picked up – I can tell when people aren't being honest. You really _would_ have rather died than be saved by me."

"Not everything is about you," Mohinder snapped.

"So you're just suicidal in general, then."

"And why should that matter to you?"

"It matters because I care about what happens to you!"

Now it was Mohinder's turn to stare. "You have got to be kidding me. Do you really think I'm that stupid – that I'd fall for that again? Whatever it is you want from me, you aren't going to get it by playing sweet with me."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you. I really do care about you."

"You certainly have a funny way of showing it, what with the torturing and the kidnapping and oh yes, the way you _murdered my father._"

"I'll admit that I've made some – mistakes."

"Mistakes," Mohinder said. "_Mistakes._" He stood up. "I can't listen to this. Naked or not, I'm leaving."

Sylar stood up and took Mohinder's hand. "Wait – will you at least hear me out? I want to make amends."

"And what, you thought that by saving my life, I'd forgive you for everything you've done?"

"Well – yes, actually."

"Then you thought wrong."

Sylar sighed in exasperation. "You are unbelievable. I saved your life – what else do you want me to do?"

"I want you to leave me alone. There are some things you can't make up for, no matter how much you regret them," Mohinder said bitterly.

"So nothing else between us is worth saving?"

Mohinder was struck speechless for a moment. "What the hell are you talking about?" he said.

"When we were together in Montana – we had a connection."

"No, we didn't."

"You're lying again."

"All right, fine – we had a 'connection.' Which you manufactured as a way to manipulate me."

"Maybe it started out that way, but it became more than that. I didn't have to sleep with you."

Mohinder didn't know whether he felt better or worse that the sex had apparently meant more to Sylar than just a way to get to his father's list. "We slept together _once_. That doesn't make us soul mates."

"Twice," Sylar said. "We did it twice."

"It was one night – it only counts as once," Mohinder snapped. "And anything I might have felt for you was based on my desire to have someone believe in me and my father's research. _You_, personally, were incidental. If I had met the real Zane Taylor, I probably would have fucked him, too."

Sylar grinned. "Keep lying to me, Mohinder – I like it. It makes me feel all tingly."

"Fuck you."

"Deny it all you want – we have a destiny."

"Oh yes, I'm sure our fate is written in the stars," Mohinder said.

Sylar appeared to completely miss the sarcasm because he nodded. "So you feel it, too."

"_No._ This is ridiculous. It wasn't 'destiny' – we were both looking for people on my father's list, so it's hardly surprising we ran into each other. Especially since you killed off nearly everyone else."

"Then how do you explain us meeting here?"

"Extraordinarily bad luck. I've been having a terrible year of that."

"You and I have both seen too much to believe in mere coincidence."

Mohinder realized that he wasn't going to win this conversation. "Fine – believe what you want, I don't care. So are you going to kill me?"

"What? No! Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"

"Then if you're not going to kill me, get me some clothes and let me leave."

"And where are you going to go? Back to the street? And your little car-throwing stunt has probably attracted some attention – I imagine the government cavalry has arrived by now."

"I'll take my chances."

"If you leave right now, they _will_ catch you."

"Yes, well – maybe it would be better that way," Mohinder muttered.

"Why would you say that?" Sylar said.

"I'm dangerous." Mohinder thought about Maya, and how she called him a monster. And he was. He kept Molly away because he was so terrified he might lose control of either his ability or his sanity again and hurt her, too. "I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"So you made some mistakes, and now you're just going to lie down and die. I never took you for a quitter."

Mohinder glared at him, but said nothing.

Sylar took a step closer to him. "I understand why you did what you did. You felt overwhelmed – lost in a world that dealt you blow after blow and you felt powerless to prevent it. You wanted to fight back. You wanted to be special." He stepped closer to him, until they were only inches apart. "I understand you, Mohinder – better than anyone else can. You don't have to be alone –"

Mohinder turned his head away and shut his eyes tightly. "Don't – just, don't."

Sylar ignored him. "When I saw you today, I felt like I'd been given a second chance to make at least one thing in my life right. Please?"

Mohinder opened his eyes again. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"You mean besides saving your life?" Sylar said. "I sort of thought that would do it."

Mohinder let out a sound that was almost a laugh before he could stop himself. "Yes, well. You have an awful lot to make up for."

Sylar smiled, taking that for encouragement. "How about this – there's a Wal-Mart down the road. I'll run down and get you some clothes that will actually fit. We'll stay here for tonight, and tomorrow, I'll get you over the border."

Mohinder hesitated. Part of him still wanted to refuse, but what other choice did he have? In spite of his protestations otherwise, he really didn't want to spend the rest of his life locked up in some government facility. "All right."

Sylar's smile widened. "All right. Sit tight, I'll be back soon."

After Sylar left, Mohinder dragged the bloody bedspread off the bed, took off his towel, and slid between the sheets. He wasn't planning on falling asleep before Sylar got back – he just hadn't wanted to sit around uncovered. But as soon as he lay down, the exhaustion of the entire week hit him, and he soon drifted off into unconsciousness.

***

Mohinder didn't want to wake up. The bed was extremely comfortable, and he was still so tired. He just wanted to sleep for a little while longer – a couple of years, tops. But he couldn't fall back asleep - something wasn't quite right. His sleep-addled brain took a few moments to sort it out. He wasn't in his apartment; he was in a motel somewhere, and for some unknown reason.

And he wasn't alone.

The events of the last week suddenly came back to him – his capture, the plane crash, and his escape. Then there was his strange meeting with Sylar, who had brought him here… Mohinder sat up and slowly turned his gaze to the other side of the bed. Sure enough, Sylar was sleeping peacefully beside him. He let out a startled yelp and clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid that he'd woken him. But Sylar merely turned over and started to snore softly. He noticed with horror that the other man was _naked_ \- or at the very least, shirtless. Mohinder wasn't about to peak under the covers to determine if he was bottomless as well.

Mohinder got out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could. He took a few deep breaths to compose himself. Finding himself in a motel room with Sylar again was bad enough, but waking up naked in bed with him was beyond the pale.

He should leave. He had no idea what kind of madness had persuaded him that taking a nap while waiting for a serial killer to return from running a few errands was a good plan, and actually agreeing to go anywhere with him was an even worse one. He blamed the fact that he'd been shot to death and then resurrected. That was bound to mess with anyone's judgment. He was rested now, though, and in full control of his faculties, so he should get out of here immediately, before Sylar woke up.

Only he still had the problem of not having any clothes. He wondered if Sylar had bought the items he'd promised. He decided to look around and see if he could find any packages Sylar might have brought back.

He walked over to the kitchenette and turned on the light, glancing nervously over at the bed. When the other man didn't stir, he let out a sigh of relief. He turned his attention to the table; there were two black tee-shirts and a pair of jeans sitting on it, all neatly folded. Beside them were a pair of shoes, two pairs of socks, and two pairs of underwear. There was also a knapsack, which contained a large water bottle, a plain black baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses.

He got dressed, put the remaining clothes in the knapsack, and made his way to the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob, but paused. He looked back over at the bed. Sylar still appeared to be sleeping peacefully. It surprised him that he was such a sound sleeper. Perhaps giving up his blood to help Mohinder had taken a lot out of him.

Almost against his own volition, he found himself walking over to the bed. He looked down at Sylar. He should kill him; he would probably never have an opportunity like this again. He could crush his head into a bloody pulp – would Sylar be able to regenerate from that? He didn't think so.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn't do it. He may have crossed some questionable moral boundaries in the past few months, but he didn't think that he'd sunk so low as to becoming capable of murdering someone in their sleep. And strangely, he found that he didn't particularly _want_ to kill him. Regardless of what had come before, the man had just saved his life.

A life that he very well might be throwing away. He had no mode of transportation, no money, and no place to hide. He'd be right back where he was before he'd run into Sylar; in fact, he'd probably be even worse off. Sylar was right – their rather public disagreement had probably attracted a lot of unwanted government attention. If he was honest with himself, his best chance at getting out of the country still lay with Sylar.

Of course, that was assuming that he could trust him. Given their past history, it seemed stupid to believe that Sylar's motives were as pure as he'd stated. But what if they were? His mind flashed back to his own experiences in the past few months. He thought about the people he'd harmed while in the grips of delusion – how it had all felt so right at the time.

Was that how Sylar felt? And was he capable of feeling the same crushing guilt afterward that now consumed Mohinder? In his desperate need to somehow lift that weight, he'd gone after Maya. What would have happened if he'd actually had the courage to stay after he'd knocked on her door? What would her reaction have been? Would she have responded with disgust and contempt? And if she had, what would that have done to him?

He sat the knapsack on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He noticed that the bloodstained bedspread had been folded and placed on the sofa. Beside it were Sylar's clothes, also carefully folded. The morning after their night in Montana, Mohinder had awoken to find that his suitcase had been organized and his clothing neatly put away. "Zane" had even insisted on making the bed before they left. Mohinder had found his tidiness oddly endearing, especially since he himself was generally a mess.

The quality had seemed less charming once he knew the truth of Sylar's identity. He now connected it with the eerie fastidiousness of Sylar's apartment. He remembered the uneasiness he and Eden had felt as they examined the plastic-covered furniture and the rows upon rows of carefully organized books. It had all spoken of an obsessive need to keep order – with the exception of that one horrible room, covered in messy, red scrawl that begged for forgiveness.

Mohinder shuddered. He didn't like this line of thinking – the last thing he wanted to do was sympathize with the man who killed his father and so many others. He was a monster of a magnitude that Mohinder could never match even at his very worst. But still – was it really that impossible to believe that there was something human lurking somewhere inside him? That there was a part of him that truly longed for forgiveness from Mohinder, in the same way he himself had longed for forgiveness from Maya?

He picked up one of the shotgun pellets from the nightstand. He crushed it into a flat disk between his fingers; his strength made the metal as malleable as clay. The terrible irony of gaining his ability was that it had led him to feel more powerless than he'd ever felt in his entire life. And in the end, his super-strength hadn't made him safer – he died as easily as he would have if he'd still been an ordinary man.

It was difficult to believe that something so small could have ended his existence. Succumbing to an impulse, he shrugged off his shirt and examined his chest, looking for any trace that he'd been shot. There was none.

"I'm surprised you're up and around already."

Mohinder nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Sylar sitting up behind him.

"Sorry," Sylar said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Mohinder found that very doubtful. "How long have you been awake?" he asked with annoyance.

He shrugged. "For a little bit." He looked down at the crushed pellet in Mohinder's hand. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Mohinder flipped the disk over a few times. "Was I really dead?"

"Yes."

"I don't remember," he said and immediately felt stupid. Of course he didn't remember. He'd been dead. His neurons had ceased to fire, and his brain had been nothing more than a lumpy grey substance, rapidly cooling and slowly starting to decay, along with the rest of his body. He'd been a _thing_. "For how long?"

"A couple of hours."

He tried to picture it. Rigor mortis probably hadn't set in – he would have still been soft and pliable. He wouldn't have been cold yet, but with the amount of blood he'd lost, he was probably very pale. "Where exactly was I shot?"

He felt Sylar move up closer behind him. "Here," he said, putting a hand on Mohinder's chest. "Well, it was a shotgun blast, so it was sort of everywhere."

The image in his head became clearer: his chest had been a gaping hole, his heart exploded into unrecognizable pulp. He was going to ask, _Were my eyes closed or open?_, but his stomach lurched unexpectedly as a feeling of horror jolted through him.

"Shhh," Sylar said. He hadn't moved his hand away from Mohinder's chest. "Try not to think about it. The important thing is that you're alive. You'll be okay."

The wave of emotion that those words caused took Mohinder completely by surprise. He wasn't sure which he found more horrifying: the fact that _Sylar,_ of all people, was comforting him, or the fact that he needed it so badly.

He was aware suddenly of the beating of his heart – how had he ever taken that for granted? It began to thump faster as he thought of it; he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins. It occurred to him that this was a new heart; it had been reconstructed from the old decimated tissue and Sylar's regenerative blood, and he would be dead without it.

Mohinder put his hand over Sylar's. He could feel Sylar's chest hair and the taut peaks of his nipples brushing against the skin of his back. When he turned his head, Sylar's lips were there to meet his own.

The odd angle of their heads kept the kiss shallow, gentle. Sylar broke away after a few moments and dragged his open mouth along Mohinder's jaw. He paused to give his earlobe a brief nip before descending down Mohinder's neck, leaving wet kisses along his skin. He pulled them down until they were lying on their sides, his hand still over Mohinder's heart and Mohinder's still on top of his. Sylar's hips rocked forward, and Mohinder could feel the length of his erection pressing against him. He slipped his hand away from under Mohinder's grasp and cupped Mohinder through his jeans, squeezing lightly.

Mohinder shut his eyes and moaned. He wasn't sure why he was letting this happen. He felt like his body had taken over, wanting to assert itself after his brush with annihilation, to prove he was still alive. And bizarrely, doing this with Sylar felt somehow easier than being with anyone else – he didn't have to worry about hurting him, and he didn't have to explain who he was or what he'd done. Sylar already knew.

Mohinder quickly removed the rest of his clothes and moaned again as he felt Sylar's bare cock pressed up against his ass. It appeared that Sylar _hadn't_ worn anything to bed. He'd think about that fact later – for now, he grabbed Sylar's hand and wrapped it around his growing erection. Sylar gave him a few quick strokes, but then released him. He reached over Mohinder's shoulder to the nightstand and removed a small bottle of lotion from the drawer. He deftly removed the cap with one hand, but once it was open, he fumbled and half of the contents of the bottle ended up all over Mohinder's stomach. Mohinder drew in his breath at the coldness of it on his skin, then let it out again with a sigh as Sylar worked the lotion over his hardening cock.

It had been so long since Mohinder had felt anything; he'd been sleep walking through his life since the madness at Pinehearst had ended. He didn't allow himself pleasure because he didn't deserve it, and he had to block out the pain to keep from completely collapsing. He still hadn't processed his recent trauma from his capture and subsequent flight; it all felt like a horrible dream.

But now, under Sylar's hands, it was as if he was slowly waking up. He felt present in his body, and although they'd only been together once before, Sylar moved with a familiarity that was oddly reassuring. He kept his touch strong and steady, seeming to sense that Mohinder was not in any condition to deal with teasing. His other arm was wrapped across Mohinder's chest, holding him close.

Mohinder's hips began thrusting of their own accord. Without letting up on his strokes, Sylar used his other hand to gather up some of the lotion and smooth it over his own cock. He didn't move to enter Mohinder; instead, he let his cock settle into the cleft of Mohinder's ass and rode with Mohinder's motions. He drew his arm around Mohinder again, pressing it a little too tightly against Mohinder's throat. His whole body surged with adrenaline, and he bucked back against Sylar hard.

"Oh God, yes," he gasped.

Sylar groaned in response and splayed his fingers across Mohinder's throat, pressing lightly. It wasn't hard enough to really interfere with his breathing, but the implied danger of it made Mohinder acutely _aware_ of every cell in his body. The thought _alive I'm alive I'm alive_ ran through his head over and over again as he writhed in Sylar's grip, thrusting forward into his hand and back against his cock faster and harder. Sylar tightened his grip under Mohinder's jaw, forcing his head back until he could capture his mouth in a kiss again, and suddenly Mohinder was coming, his cock pulsing in Sylar's hand.

Sylar milked him through his orgasm, only releasing him after Mohinder was completely spent. As the last shudders of his climax ran through his body, Sylar grabbed Mohinder's hips with both hands and rutted against him frantically. After a few minutes, Sylar let out a shout, and Mohinder felt the splash of semen against the small of his back.

They lay together for a long time, breathing heavily. Mohinder felt blank, as if he'd been temporarily anesthetized by the afterglow. Whenever a coherent thought attempted to form in his head, he squashed it mercilessly. He could deal with how deeply, completely, and hopelessly fucked up that had been later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep.

He started to drift into unconsciousness, but then he felt Sylar stir beside him. Mohinder wanted to ignore him, but to his horror, he realized that Sylar was actually trying to _snuggle_. He kissed Mohinder just below his ear. "You know, you are probably the moodiest bastard I have ever met."

"Shut up," Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed.

Mohinder sat up and started to get to his feet, but Sylar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"I need a towel."

"Allow me." Sylar made a gesture, and a moment later a towel floated from the bathroom and into Sylar's hand. He used it to clean off Mohinder's back, but Mohinder snatched it from him when he moved to clean Mohinder's cock.

"I can do that myself, thanks."

"Okay, okay," Sylar said. "You know, you weren't this touchy after sex last time."

"Oh, stop it!" Mohinder snapped. "Just shut up – and stop looking so damn smug!"

"I'm not smug," Sylar said smugly. "I'm…gratified." He ran a finger absently down Mohinder's arm. "Things are finally coming together. This is like another piece to the puzzle – one I didn't know was missing, but it's starting to make sense."

"What the hell are you blathering on about?"

"I've been so lost these past few months. There have been so many people lying to me and manipulating me, trying to make me into a tool that would serve their ends. But I managed to break away from all that, and now I'm finally on the right path." He put a hand on Mohinder's cheek. "Don't go to Mexico," he said. "Come with me instead."

Mohinder jerked away. "And why on earth would I do that?"

"Because you don't want to go back to India," Sylar said.

"Oh really? Please, do enlighten me on how you came to that conclusion."

"It's been six months since Primatech and Pinehearst were destroyed, and yet you're still here."

Mohinder hated it when he had a point. "I was going to leave – I was just…taking care of a few things."

"Does it have something to do with that little girl – what's her name, Mary?"

"It's _Molly_, and no, and as if I would tell you if it did."

"Then why _are_ you still here?"

Mohinder didn't respond. The truth was that he was afraid - afraid to face his mother and Molly after everything he'd done, afraid of losing control of himself again, afraid of being shunned by his former colleagues. He didn't even know if there was a life for him there anymore. It seemed easier just to stay in New York and drive cabs.

"Why would you think that I would want to go anywhere with you, anyway?" Mohinder asked in lieu of an answer.

"Well, you did just have sex with me," Sylar said, not entirely unreasonably.

"And where would we be going? What would we be doing? I can't imagine you being up to anything I'd want to be a part of."

"How about the destruction of the agency that's targeting people with abilities? Would that interest you?"

"If it's so you can steal the abilities of the people they've captured, then no, I most definitely would not be interested."

Sylar waved a hand dismissively. "That's not my primary objective anymore."

"Really. And what brought about this sudden change of heart?"

Sylar didn't answer right away. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I met my father," he said eventually. "My real father."

Mohinder wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "I didn't realize you were adopted."

"I wasn't, exactly. My father sold me for cash to the people I thought were my parents, right before murdering my real mother."

Sylar looked at him as if trying to gauge his reaction, but what exactly did you say to that sort of revelation? _That's terrible? I'm sorry? That certainly explains a lot?_ "Oh," he ended up saying.

"He was like me – same powers, same…compulsions."

"Do you mean he was able to take other people's powers, the same way you do?"

"Yes."

Mohinder's mind started to whir as he thought of his father's theories on the inheritability of abilities. He was about to ask Sylar another question when he caught himself. Why should he care? Hadn't his father's research already cost him enough?

Sylar continued. "When I finally found his house, I almost didn't go in because the stench was overwhelming. There were animal carcasses everywhere."

"Good God," Mohinder said. "Why?"

"Because he's a killer. It's who he is." Sylar looked away. "It's all he is."

"And that bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me!" Sylar snapped. "I had hoped that he would have some answers for why I turned out the way I did. He couldn't tell me why I am who I am. All he could show me was _what_ I am, and what I will be. I always thought that I was the pinnacle of evolution; I was shaped to be the next step in humanity's natural history. But my father spent his whole life gathering abilities, and it all added up to nothing. His entire life was meaningless." He entwined his fingers with Mohinder's. "I don't want that to be me."

For a very brief moment, Mohinder felt himself sympathizing. He remembered holding the urn of his father's ashes in the apartment in New York, surrounded by the half-finished remnants of his father's research. He'd been gripped suddenly with an odd feeling of horror, not only at the terribleness of his father's death, but of the utter uselessness of his life, and that by coming to New York, he'd damned himself to the same fate.

The feeling of sympathy, however, faded quickly when he remembered exactly who had put him in that position in the first place. He ripped his hand away from Sylar's.

"Oh, so you had an existential crisis? How very sad for you," he said, fuming. "At least you still have an existence to have a crisis about - something that you've denied to God knows how many people! And now you think that you can just say you're sorry and expect everything to be all right? Even if you did manage to save us all, it wouldn't undo the damage you've caused. It doesn't work that way - not for what you've done."

Sylar cocked his head. "I never said I was sorry."

"...oh," Mohinder said. He felt like a train car that had been abruptly diverted to another track. "No, I suppose you didn't." It took him a minute to recompose himself. "Then why on earth do you want to take on the government?"

"It's going to be difficult to rediscover my destiny if I have them chasing me everywhere."

"Yes, I imagine so," Mohinder said, his voice impressively calm considering the circumstances. He wondered if it was possible for a person to pinpoint the exact moment when they completely lost their mind. "So you aren't sorry for what you've done, then."

"Well, I'm sorry it had to happen, of course, but it's what was necessary to bring me to this point. If I were to say that I wanted to take it all back, it would be like all those deaths were meaningless. Those deaths are proof that I'm meant for something greater - otherwise, why would they have happened? Don't you see that there has to be a reason for it?" Sylar sounded less sure of himself now; he seemed to need Mohinder's reassurance. He continued, almost to himself. "Otherwise, I'm as meaningless as a hurricane, or as mindless as a savage animal. No, I'm special. I know I am. And that was why I was brought to my father - to show me that I couldn't let my life sputter out without meaning." As he continued to speak, his voice became quieter and quieter until Mohinder had to strain to hear him. "And that's why you're here now - to help me discover what it is I'm supposed to do. And why your father had to die - to bring you to me."

It took a moment for that last sentence to sink in. Mohinder gave Sylar a shove, which sent him sailing off the bed. He crashed into the mirrored closet door, shattering it and sending him tumbling into the hangers.

"What the hell was that for?" he said as he struggled to his feet. A shard of mirror had ripped a large gash into his forehead, and several smaller shards had embedded themselves in his face and arms; it must have hurt, even with his healing ability, but Sylar seemed not to notice.

"I would try to explain it, but seeing as you are _utterly, barking mad,_ I'd be wasting my breath."

"I was trying to help you! Doesn't it comfort you to know that your suffering means something?"

Mohinder started laughing. "Oh yes, it's very comforting to know that destiny forced you to brutally murder my father so that _you wouldn't have to be lonely._ You know, your insanity is so incredible that it's almost hypnotic - I can't think of any other explanation as to why I didn't leave the minute you stepped out of this hotel room." He began to rummage through the sheets. "Where the hell are my pants?"

"You're leaving?"

"Of course I'm leaving!" He couldn't find his underwear, so he yanked on his jeans without them. "You don't feel an ounce of remorse, and I can't believe I deluded myself into thinking you might. You're incapable of it because you are a monster, and I ha- "

His tirade was cut short as he felt himself flung across the room until he was pinned with his back to the wall by an invisible force. Sylar stalked towards him as he struggled.

It wasn't the first time he'd called Sylar a monster, but he generally meant it in an abstract way. No matter how much he demonized him, he was always very aware that he was only a man, after all. But now, as Sylar moved towards him, completely naked, blood dripping down his face even as the cuts healed, Mohinder became keenly aware that he _wasn't_ a man, not anymore, and the fear that gripped him was so all-encompassing that he forgot his own humanity and was, for a moment, no different than a field mouse, or a rabbit - a thing of prey, cornered, about to be devoured.

Then Sylar began to make a strange whistling noise, and the fear somehow diminished. Mohinder felt as if he'd been dosed with morphine; all of his senses were dampened, and he had to fight to retain consciousness.

The invisible force that held him to the wall disappeared. He struggled to speak, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "What...what did you do to..."

"It's a trick I picked up from my father." Sylar sighed. "I really wish it hadn't come to this. I'm so tired of fighting. Aren't you?"

Mohinder attempted to run, but instead he fell forward. Sylar caught him in his arms. He did his best to struggle, but he felt an overwhelming urge to simply _be still._ So he was.

Sylar dragged him over to the bed and sat him down on it. He lifted one of Mohinder's legs up onto the bed, and then the other, and scooted him backward until he was sitting up with his back against the headboard. He put some pillows behind his head. "There. Are you comfortable?"

Mohinder opened his mouth to answer, but only managed a thick, wordless noise.

Sylar gave him a pat on the leg. "I'm not going to kill you, in case you were worried. I already have your strength; I don't need to kill any more to gain abilities. Haven't for awhile now, actually, but I somehow always end up doing it anyway." His tone wasn't exactly remorseful, but it did have a sort of wistful quality about it.

Mohinder managed to lift his hand, but couldn't do anything more useful than touch Sylar's face. Sylar caught his hand in his own and smiled, as if Mohinder had meant for it to be a caress.

"You know, I kind of like you like this. Quiet. You'd be a lot happier if you learned to keep your mouth shut every once in a while."

At that, Mohinder did manage to lunge at Sylar with more force, but Sylar made that strange whistling noise again, and soon he couldn't remember why he was fighting him to begin with.

"I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment to keep. And honestly, you aren't exactly being as open-minded as I hoped you'd be; you could probably use some time to think things over. We can always finish this later."

A thousand thoughts floated through Mohinder's head, but his head felt so muddled that he had trouble grasping onto any of them. He felt he ought to try to say something, so he focused on the thought that was the loudest: "Why me?"

Sylar looked thoughtful. "Why you? Why me? Why any of us, any of this? I don't know yet, but I will, eventually. But what I do know is this: All my life, people have wanted something from me. My mother wanted me to fulfill her dreams. Your father wanted to study me. Angela wanted my power. Elle wanted to reform me. Luke wanted me to save him. But not you. You don't want anything from me at all." Sylar sounded a little sad. "I guess that makes you special. " He touched Mohinder's face tenderly. "You should rest now. Give up the fight, for a little bit at least."

The suggestion was irresistible. Mohinder shut his eyes and knew no more.

******

Mohinder awoke later - how much later, he wasn't sure, but the sunlight shining in from the window was dusky and orange. His head still felt cloudy, and it took him several long moments to get his limbs to cooperate enough to stand up.

Sylar was nowhere to be seen. The whole scene had been so bizarre that he was tempted to dismiss it as an unusually vivid hallucination. The stress he'd been under lately was enough to make anyone snap. But no, there was the bloodstained comforter and the broken mirror, and how would he have made his way into a hotel room to begin with unless Sylar had brought him here?

He walked over to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. When he looked up at the mirror, he noticed an envelope taped to it. Warily, he took it from the mirror and opened it.

The envelope contained about $500 in cash and a letter written in small, tidy handwriting.

_Dear Mohinder,_

How's your head? Not too foggy, I hope. You're going to need your wits about you.

I'm leaving you some money. If I were you, I'd lay low for a week or so. I wouldn't worry too much about the government - they're going to have their hands full. After that, you can try to make your way to Mexico, but there won't be any real need to. Go back to India for a little while, if you want. I think you'll find yourself back here soon enough.

I guess you're probably wondering why I'm helping you. I don't think I can explain it in a way you're ready to understand, but I'll try. My ability is to know how things work. I can see the secret mechanics that underlie everything. Up until this point, I've been very short-sighted. But now I've widened my gaze, and the things that I can see will change the world. We're all part of a great design, Mohinder, and you and I are linked. You don't realize it yet, but you will, someday.

See you around.

-S

He put the money and the letter back in the envelope and placed in on the counter. The letter unnerved him. He wanted to dismiss it as crazy nonsense, but a small part of him had a sneaking suspicion that he might be on to something.

He needed to plan his next move. He sat down again on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands, but after several long moments, the only concrete goal he could think of was that he really, really wanted a sandwich. And maybe a nap. There was only so much one person could take in a day.

He found a phonebook and flipped through it until he found a deli that delivered. He then did some additional detective work to figure out where the bloody hell he was, and once he'd determined that, he called and placed an order. He wondered briefly if the state of the room would raise the delivery person's suspicions, but decided that he must be in a particularly shady neighborhood if no one had bothered to investigate what was going on when Sylar and he had been throwing each other around the room.

As he waited for his food, he flipped on the television. The five o'clock local news had just started; the lead story was about a freak car accident that had left a man decapitated. The man in question was the store owner who had shot him. He hastily turned off the TV.

Sylar was still murdering people. He wasn't going to stop, no matter what high-minded ideals he'd convinced himself he had. Could Mohinder really turn and run now that he knew that? Who else would be able to stop him?

And what of the government? He'd run away once from his friends, but it wasn't too late to rectify that mistake. If Sylar of all people could summon up the courage to stand up for what was right, then he certainly had no excuse.

He stretched out on the bed and shut his eyes. He'd eat and rest, and the first thing in the morning, he'd set out for Washington, D.C. He wasn't sure if he was destined to hurt Sylar or help him or some strange mixture of the two, but he wasn't going to run away anymore.

He was sick of beating himself up for the things he'd done wrong. He knew he'd have to face the consequences of the bad decisions he'd made in the past year. Maybe he deserved to be punished for them, but the only thing his self-flagellation had accomplished was making him feel even worse about himself.

In an odd sort of way, the whole incident had brought things into perspective. He'd been more himself in the past twenty-four hours than he had in months. He could wait for the universe to execute the sentence for his crimes.

But in the meantime, he might as well make himself useful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Sooo, this is going to be awkward, but I thought I'd add a note to let everyone know that I've branched out into original work under the pen name Sera Trevor. I have three original novels available for free! 
> 
> My first book, "Consorting with Dragons," is a fairy tale comedy about an impoverished young lord who ends up attracting the attention of both a powerful dragon and the king himself, much to the consternation of the royal court who are less than impressed with his uncouth manners. If you like my sense of humor, I think you'll really enjoy it! It's available in all formats at the Goodreads M/M Romance Group's site [here.](http://www.mmromancegroup.com/consorting-with-dragons-by-sera-trevor/) (Scroll to the bottom for the links.)
> 
> My second book, "A Shadow on the Sun," is an epic fantasy about a prince forced into a political marriage and the loyal knight who is determined to save him. This book is heavy on the angst and political intrigue. You can find it on Amazon [here](https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Sun-Sera-Trevor-ebook/dp/B017RZ4FIS/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1469121664&sr=8-2&keywords=a+shadow+on+the+sun), or at Smashwords [here.](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/591705)
> 
> My last book, "The Troll Whisperer," is a contemporary tale about an internet troll who inadvertently falls for one of his victims. It's a comedy with a lot of heart as the main character learns to change his trolly ways. You can find it on Amazon [here](https://www.amazon.com/Troll-Whisperer-Sera-Trevor-ebook/dp/B017J071JQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1469122243&sr=8-1&keywords=troll+whisperer), or at Smashwords [here.](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589782) The short story sequel, "The Pink Wedding," is available for $.99 [here](https://www.amazon.com/Pink-Wedding-Troll-Whisperer-Book-ebook/dp/B017I51ZP8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1469122457&sr=8-1&keywords=sera+trevor) and [here.](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589801)
> 
> I also have a [website!](http://www.seratrevor.com) You can keep up with my releases by signing up for my newsletter [here.](http://www.seratrevor.com/newsletter.html)


End file.
